Dorian Pavus and the Temple of Sacred Ashes
by ladymal
Summary: The Wardens have all gone missing at the most inconvenient time. Felix is dying and Dorian needs to survive the darkspawn long enough to reach the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Fortunately for him, he meets Warden Faren Brosca in the most unexpected way. A Western AU/Indiana Jones AU. Cover art by mrgabel on tumblr.
1. Chapter 1

For daficswap over on tumblr. Warden Faren Brosca belongs to mrgabel.

* * *

Dorian was in the middle of a bar fight.

He wasn't sure how it was he'd gotten drawn into it—he'd been happily minding his own business all evening, thank you—but he wasn't about to let a bunch of drunkards get the best of him. So, when some fool approached with a wooden stool raised and ready to crack over his head, Dorian discreetly as could be zapped him with just enough magic to knock the bastard out. He glanced around to make certain that no one had seen his little indiscretion and no one had except for the quiet dwarf watching from the corner.

"He tripped," Dorian said. "Poor sod."

The dwarf smiled—rather more handsomely than he had any right to, in Dorian's opinion—and shrugged as he sipped his whiskey.

"That's what I saw," he said and though his voice was low and rough, it cut through the ruckus around them like a knife. He then turned his head and Dorian saw the silverite badge that pinned the brim of his hat. "Duck."

Dorian ducked. There was a bang and the acrid scent of black powers and something whistled over him. One of the mirrors over the bar shattered. _Someone shot at me_ , he thought. _That's just terribly unsporting_. Before he could see who had tried to _kill_ him and give a little of his own, the bottle of whiskey was sailing out of the dwarf's hand and conking the gunman hard enough to drop him to the floor.

Dorian raised an eyebrow, impressed. "You've quite the aim."

No one else seemed mad enough to start firing into the chaos so he stood. His fine, black coat had gotten into a puddle of cheap liquor, it seemed, and he sighed. _Well, that's never going to come out._

The dwarf only shrugged again.

"You're a Warden, aren't you?" Dorian asked.

He had the badge—the rampant griffon gleamed even in the smoke-clogged light—but it didn't hurt to check. Especially since he could hardly believe his luck. He'd come to this Maker-forsaken, spit-on-the-map town—on _horseback_ , no less—as his last hope of finding a Warden and here one was. Drinking in a bit house, bold as you please.

"That's right," the dwarf said with a nod.

Dorian beamed wide enough to flash his gold tooth and strode over to offer his hand that wasn't holding his fedora.

"Professor Dorian Pavus." The 'professor' part was technically a lie—though it certainly wouldn't have been if he'd been free to live as he pleased—but he thought he could be forgiven for it. This wasn't for himself, after all. "Your sort have made themselves remarkably difficult to find. Did you know?"

He chuckled a little; more out of the relief uncoiling in his gut than anything. Felix might just have a chance, after all. He couldn't even find it in himself to mind when he had to dodge another chair intent on braining him.

The dwarf hesitated but took his hand and shook it. "Warden Brosca. Stone-met."

"I know that name," Dorian said, surprised. "You're the Hero of Ferelden."

This was even better than he could have hoped. _A dwarf won't give two wits about the Chantry and if there's anyone that can get me through the Frostbacks, it's the man who killed the Archdemon._

Another shrug. A favorite gesture of his, apparently. "Not many call me that these days."

"People do have woefully short memories for this sort of thing. You keep everyone from a gruesome death and it's a pat on the head and a shove out the door." His mouth twisted into a wry smile. "Infamy tends to last longer, I've found."

Someone was calling for the marshals, now, and Dorian realized that he'd better hurry this along.

"Pleasantries aside," he said, "I have a proposition for you if you're willing to hear it. It'll be worth your while, I assure you."

Frowning, Warden Brosca loosely folded his arms and squinted through the smoke at him in interest. Excellent.

"Blighted coyotes harassing your cattle?"

"Ah, nothing so banal as that." Dorian glanced over his shoulder but the other patrons were still occupied with smashing one another's faces into the Wicked Grace tables. "It's something of a more adventurous nature which should suit someone with your colorful history right down to the Stone."

It was the wrong thing to say. Warden Brosca's expression became closed-off and his arms dropped back to his sides.

"Not interested in any criminal activity, Mr. Pavus, and I'd thank you to let me be on my way."

"What? No!" Alarm thrummed through his belly and Dorian lifted a hand to stall the other man. "It seems we've had a bit of a misunderstanding and it's 'Professor', actually—"

But Warden Brosca was already pushing off of the wall he'd been leaning against and shouldering his way past. He darted through the raucous crowd; dodging thrown chairs and flying limbs with surprising deftness. Dorian blinked after him until the last flash of the tails of his duster had disappeared behind the sea of drunkards.

 _That went rather poorly. Your last chance to save Felix and you managed to chase him out the door in minutes. Well done._

Scowling, Dorian shoved his hat back onto his head and started to creep along the edges of the fighting towards the door in hopes of catching him but never got that far. The marshals burst inside and began rounding up the saloon's patrons. Some of the lawmen had shining Templar badges pinned next to the normal ones and he had to resist the most appalling urge to spit in frustration.

Truly, the day was going swimmingly.

He lurked in the back unassumingly—Me? A bounty on my head? Maker, no!—but he might as well have been standing on the bar, yodeling the Tevinter imperial anthem judging by how quickly he was found out.

A marshal with steel gray hair approached him with her hand already on her pistol. She had only the one badge on her coat and Dorian allowed himself to feel some hope that she wasn't one of his father's. No cause for alarm just yet, he told himself. You were part of a bar brawl, after all. If reluctantly and without any say-so on your part. It's likely she thinks you're just one more ruffian in need of a good handcuffing. Then he scoffed.

As if he'd ever be mistaken for a ruffian, of all things.

"Dorian Pavus. You've a lot of people looking for you."

 _Venhedis._

* * *

It had been a fool's risk for him to come close enough to Tevinter to effectively be in it but in his defense, he'd been rather desperate. The Gray Wardens had all decided that _now_ was an excellent time to run off all at once, never to be seen again, apparently. Weisshaupt and all the other Warden outposts were empty and Felix didn't have the luxury of _waiting_.

So, Dorian had gone searching.

He had ridden the transcontinental railroad from Rivain to Ferelden, chasing down every rumor of Gray Wardens he had come across. All for nothing until recently and he had Varric to thank for it. He was going to be insufferably smug about it once he learned. They had a bet going and everything. Of course, Dorian having to actually pay up wasn't looking terribly likely at this point.

 _Trussed and packaged like a cut of meat_ , he thought. He scowled at the man sitting across from him in the carriage; who grinned and tapped his cattle prod tellingly against his knee.

After the marshal—who had turned out to be in his father's pocket, after all—had hauled him into a jail cell with a pair of magic-suppressing irons around his wrists, a carriage had been called for. He'd then spent the night shoulder-to-shoulder with every lush in the county before being transferred into the custody of a group of his father's thugs.

They were on their way to Minrathous, now. Where his father would finish the job he'd started, presumably, and Dorian would be left an empty, properly biddable puppet to his whims.

 _Vishante kaffas. No. I refuse to accept that._

Whether he accepted it not, however, every day that he spent bouncing around in the carriage was one day closer to that wretched end. Tonight, they would reach the train station and short of throwing himself onto the tracks at full speed, his predicament would be inescapable then. He had to come up with a plan to overcome five alarmingly grizzled mercenaries, shackled hands, his suppressed magic, and the stretch of dry, hot plains between him and the nearest bit of civilization. Simplicity itself.

Fortunately for him, that was right around the time that some enterprising fellow shot off one of the carriage wheels.

They lurched to the side as the horses screamed and for the first time in days, Dorian's minder turned his gaze to something other than him. He didn't let himself hesitate with thoughts of how poorly this could all go for him or any thoughts at all, really. His legs kicked out almost of their own volition and his boots caught the other man in the chin. It was a lucky blow; snapping his head to the side and escorting him into an impromptu nap.

There was more gunfire outside and the carriage jerked to a stop as another wheel was taken out, almost throwing him to the floor. The rest of Dorian's abduction party was shouting and shooting but he ignored them in favor of rifling through his minder's pockets. He found the key to his shackles and squirmed until he managed to drop it into his coat. Then he grabbed the pair of ivory-handled pistols at the man's waist— _his_ ivory-handled pistols, he realized—and somewhat awkwardly shoved them into his belt.

When he saw that the bastard had gotten his filthy, grasping hands on his lyrium-infused whip, too, Dorian curled his lip. _An equal-opportunity thief as well as a kidnapper. You certainly aim for the high bar, don't you?_

The man stirred with a groan and Dorian elbowed him back into silence. He was preparing to leave when he heard a strange series of noises outside; a succession of pops followed by sustained hissing like steam being let out of a valve. He stopped short as he saw the noxious green clouds now billowing past the windows and into the cabin.

Swearing, he ripped the bandanna from his guard's neck. The whip in his hand made it difficult and the fabric smelled vile but he pressed it to his mouth and nose regardless. He kicked open the carriage door then stumbled out. The smoke burned his eyes and the scent of sulphur filtered through his stolen mask making him woozy.

He staggered through the little vortex of chaos as quickly as he could, the coughing and bellowing of his abductors chasing him through the fog. The horses were panicked; whinnying and trying to drag the hobbled carriage away. Dorian ignored it all and focused on escaping until he had thrown himself past the oddly defined edges of the clouds and in the clear.

There was a loud _thump_ and he jumped but it was only one of the mercenaries passing out next to him. That seemed to mark the end for the rest of them and there was the muffled sound of bodies falling then silence. Dorian let out a slightly vicious laugh. He was the only one awake or alive, it seemed, and he didn't particularly care to find out which. Or the identity and motives of their attackers, for that matter.

It was already too late to slip away unnoticed, however. He'd no sooner started skulking away than he realized that a dwarf in a leather duster was sitting cross-legged on the outcrop looming over what passed for a road in these parts. Their face was hidden by a hat, goggles and blue bandanna. A rifle rested on their shoulder and Dorian supposed it was a good sign that he wasn't currently being threatened with it. The unreasonable sorts generally liked to wave them about right from the beginning.

The dwarf lifted a hand in greeting when they saw him looking and hopped down to stand in from of him. When they tugged down his goggles and bandanna, Dorian stared in a good deal of shock.

"'Professor,' is it?" Warden Brosca's smile was warmly amused. "I've a proposition for you."

His stomach did an odd flip and he cleared his throat as it went unreasonably dry. "Ah. Do you?"

"That's right." His smile became a grin and he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "How 'bout we make our lucky before these nug-humpers wake up?"


	2. Chapter 2

Dorian thought that the Warden had quite the idea.

After freeing him of the irons, they made their escape on the back of a sturdy pony named Nug, of all things. It was terribly awkward what with his boots nearly touching the ground and him having to hold onto Warden Brosca for dear life but it wasn't for long. Quick enough, they reached a thicket where Dorian's horse was tied to a scrawny tree near a small, clear creek. She nickered happily at the sight of him and he couldn't help the grin that split his face.

"You found Indiana!" He clambered down from the pony and walked over to bury his hands in Indiana's pale mane. Just barely, he restrained himself from giving her a kiss on the forehead, as well, and turned to the Warden. "Who would have guessed that you are quite good at this knight in shining armor business?"

Warden Brosca coughed but was smiling as he swung down from the saddle.

"You call your horse 'Indiana.' What sort of name is that supposed to be?"

"I don't believe that the man who felt 'Nug' was an acceptable moniker has any room to judge, thank you."

Indiana was already saddled with a pair of bags full of supplies strapped on. Dorian found a canteen, as well, but when he sniffed its contents, he was disappointed to find that it was only water. _One can't have everything, I suppose. Now is the time to be grateful that you aren't on a train headed towards vegetable-dom._

"So," Warden Brosca was digging into his own provisions and pulled out a strip of jerky to gnaw on as he spoke, "'bout this job you're looking to hire for."

Dorian wrinkled his nose slightly but didn't comment on the appalling lack of manners. "Not that I'm not eager to discuss it but I have a few questions of my own first, if you don't mind."

"Imagine you do." He patted the pony's damp neck with a broad hand. "We've some time since Nug needs a rest."

The pony did look rather droopy and was foaming alarmingly at the mouth so Dorian figured that it was probably for the best.

"Why rescue me? I was under the impression that I had endeared myself to you about as well as a flea to a cat."

Warden Brosca shrugged and walked Nug over to the creek. "Saw the marshal hand you over and I decided to do a little digging. Turns out we have mutual friends of friends."

"Truly? Who?"

"Varric."

"That wretch. He never said a word." Scowling he shook his head. "I suppose he filled you in."

"Only what fit on the telegram," the Warden reassured him. "You've decided to live as you please and your pa doesn't much care for it."

"And that was enough to make you decide to risk your life for me? The scattering of wanted posters from here to Orlais didn't give you pause?"

"A man like your pa knows what gold can do just as well as I do. Offer enough of it and people stop askin' questions. Didn't like the idea of that ilk getting his hands on you."

Dorian laughed, amused but also more than a little incredulous. Surely, there was a catch he was missing in all of this. People that did things for others—for _him_ , in particular—simply because it was the moral thing to do, did not exist. Now, however, was not the time to confront him on it.

"I do believe that I heard my father choking on his supper at the idea that he has anything in common with a former Carta member. How positively delightful."

"From what I hear," Warden Brosca said, "he has a good deal more in common with the criminal sorts than he'd like to admit."

"Well, that's undeniably true." Another laugh but this time tinged with bitterness. "And to think that I was once fool enough to admire the bastard."

The other man's rough voice was surprisingly gentle. "Nothin' fool about that. Your pa's the one who should be man enough to be worthy of it."

"That's—" Feeling wrong-footed, he glanced away and smoothed his mustache. "You certainly have strong opinions on this for someone who has only just met me."

Warden Brosca shrugged again and Dorian noticed very suddenly that his smile was crooked in an irritatingly charming manner.

"You done with your questions?" he asked."

Indiana was chewing on Dorian's coat collar and he absentmindedly pushed her face away. "On that subject, most definitely. Did Varric inform you as to why I was looking for your elusive order?"

Shaking his head, the Warden's smile grew cheeky as he shoved what was left of his jerky into his mouth. "Only that you're a liar whose only claim to 'Professor' is how much nugshit you can get the rest of us to swallow."

 _You can forget about your winnings, you rogue_ , he thought to his absent friend.

"That is a crude and terrible exaggeration but I admit to it being not wholly inaccurate. I'm a historian but my father has made affiliation with any university impossible for obvious reasons."

"That what this job's about then?"

"I'm investigating the possibility that there's an important Andrastian site dating from -170 Ancient in the Frostback Mountains," Dorian said. "Unfortunately, I've exhausted what research can be done with the crumbling texts that remain from that period. I'm being forced to continue my work in person."

None of this was untrue though the prevarication made his gut squirm. He would prefer to be entirely up-front—particularly since he was starting to rather _like_ the other man—but he couldn't risk it. It didn't take more than the first couple of times that 'madman' was thrown his way for him to learn to hold his tongue.

It turned out that he needn't have bothered.

Warden Brosca's eyebrows had climbed nearly into his hair. "You're lookin' for Andraste's Ashes."

He shifted his feet and then smiled nastily. "It seems our mutual friend of a friend told you, after all."

The idea that he'd been lied to stung. Ridiculous, really. He'd hardly been a bastion of honesty himself so he had no business being _hurt_ , of all things.

But Warden Brosca was shaking his head. "No. I know because I went lookin' for them myself during the Blight. Governor Guerrin died because we could never get through the darkspawn in those mountains. Probably would have died even if we had, to be honest."

"I...Nothing I've seen has ever mentioned that."

"Course not," was all the Warden said on the matter. "This is a job for a mercenary company if not an army."

"The trouble with mercenaries," Dorian said with a dry smile, "is that they take the old phrase, 'a spirit already bound, is worth two in the Fade,' straight to heart. Dealing with them tends to end poorly for those of us with bounties on our heads."

"And you think the two of us will somehow be enough, do you?"

"As you've no doubt noticed, I'm a mage. An altus from Tevinter, mind you, which means that I was given the best magical training in Thedas." Indiana had moved on to trying to get at his hair and he glared at her as he pushed his fedora back onto his head. "I hardly need to list your qualifications, I think. Never mind that no one has actually stepped foot in the Frostbacks in years. For all anyone knows, the darkspawn have crawled back into their holes and our only worries will be the occasional bear."

That earned him a snort as Warden Brosca turned his head to stare out at the plains. Holding his breath, Dorian waited. He seemed to be considering taking the job, at least, but he hadn't looked especially convinced by Dorian's arguments, either.

"The Ashes are yours if we find them," he blurted out and Warden Brosca looked at him. "I ask only for a pinch for myself but the rest are yours. Even if they turn out to be nothing more than a romantic legend, I will see to it that you're well compensated. Either way, you'll be a wealthy man by the end of this."

Frowning, Warden Brosca considered him silently for a beat as he leaned against Nug's sturdy side.

"Why?"

"Why what, exactly?" Dorian asked.

"Why only a pinch? Why go lookin' for the Ashes, at all?"

 _The Ashes should be studied or preserved in a museum, at the very least. I'm a historian, if you recall. What a remarkably short memory you have._ The lie sprung easily to his lips but, for once, he hesitated as he met the other man's eyes. He...somehow, it mattered that he knew this truth.

"A friend—my only friend—is dying. A random ambush by darkspawn that no one was prepared for and now he has the Blight sickness. Felix—" Dorian blinked and looked away, his throat tight. "Other than Varric, Felix is the only person in all of Thedas who would actually give a damn if I up and died. And Varric would because I owe him money. I would physically walk the Fade if it would save Felix."

Warden Brosca searched his face for a long moment before letting out a sigh.

"Money won't do me much good if I'm dead but fine. I accept the job."

"You...you do?"

Laughing, he squinted at the hot, glaring sun that was beating on them like a hammer. "Can't much believe it myself. Wondering if the two of us haven't been lickin' the lyrium, to be honest. Saddle up, Mr. Pavus. Them nug humpers after you are probably awake, spittin' mad, and lookin' for a couple of fools to murder."

* * *

 _It is a curious thing_ , Dorian thought as he looked at the dwarf that had just saved his life. _Friendship._

They were in the Temple of Sacred Ashes and he was on his back in darkspawn filth. A genlock had knocked him down and he'd only just managed to hold its teeth away from his throat until Faren had kicked it off of him and killed it with a well placed shot with his rifle. _How many times is that now?_ he mused as he closed his eyes against the ache in the back of his skull from smacking it into the stone floor. _You know, I do believe I've lost count._

Despite his assurances to the contrary, it turned out that the darkspawn in the Frostbacks had never gotten the newsletter that the Blight was ten years finished. It had been a hard slog to the temple and naturally, it was something of a base of operations for the darkspawn. Not what he'd anticipated in the slightest but truly, he should have known better.

"What is the charming dwarven phrase?" Dorian asked as Faren leaned over him with an expression of concern. "Still not of the stone?"

Faren grinned and reached down the admittedly short distance to help him up.  
"It's 'still outside the Stone,' surfacer."

He hadn't let go of his whip, fortunately, and he wound it up to hold it more comfortably as he spoke. Thick, black blood was flung off of it in strings with the motion.

"You're a 'surfacer', too, in case you've forgotten."

"That would be the most polite thing they would call me."

The squeeze he gave Dorian's hand before letting go made his heart flutter and he had to suppress a scowl. _That's quite enough out of you_. His efforts to silence his traitorous heart were completely undermined, of course, when Faren handed him his hat with a wink.

He turned to survey the temple before the other man could see the smile twitching his mustache or the blush rising in his cheeks. The room they'd found themselves in was dominated by thick, decorated pillars and a half-broken and fouled statue of Andraste. It was clear that the darkspawn had been here for some time and he very much did not want to think of what he'd been laying in.

 _If I don't have the Blight sickness by now then it's a Maker-given miracle._

Faren seemed to be thinking the same thing because he was eyeing him with a frown as he rubbed at his cheek. A bandana covered Dorian's mouth and nose to keep him from swallowing any darkspawn blood inadvertently—he had been summarily disgusted to learn that that was a possibility—but the smallest injury could kill him just as easily. A lesson he'd learned from Felix all too well.

"I don't like letting you walk 'round covered in the Taint," Faren said, lifting his rifle to rest on his shoulder. "We've been practically bathing in it for days. It ain't a good idea."

"A lovely image, that. We're nearly there, however. It would be a shameful waste to turn back."

"'Bout that." Faren looked at him and the seriousness of his expression made his stomach twist. "Dorian—"

"Ah, is that a whiff of fresh air? Excellent. It comes as no surprise that it smells absolutely revolting in here and it's making my stomach turn. Let's move on. Shall we?"

He moved so quick that he slipped a bit on the offal beneath his boots but he caught himself before it could slow him. As he walked through the doorway empty of any actual door, he heard Faren sigh quietly before following. A lump had formed in Dorian's throat— _it must be the absolutely wretched air in this place_ —and he coughed.

The next chamber was much like the first only larger. No more darkspawn disturbed them and they passed through with the only trouble being the reeking filth that was impossible to avoid. It took them to a curious puzzle that involved stepping on stones until a bridge formed to carry them to the final part of the temple.

At any other time—if he were here for any other reason—he'd be positively giddy at the sight of it all but all he could think about was Felix and how close he was to saving him. It was the only thing on his mind when they entered a massive chamber with a stepped altar. Sunlight poured like gold over a great statue of Andraste in white stone and the empty pedestal at her feet.

 _No, they must be there. I just can't see them, is all._

"Looks like the darkspawn couldn't get across the bridge," Faren said but Dorian barely heard him, so loudly was his heart pounding in his ears.

They walked up the steps but he wasn't telling his body to move. Not really. He seemed to have floated somewhere outside of it at some point and it was now making decisions of its own. _Let it_ , he thought. _Seeing as I have failed so spectacularly._

The altar and its pedestal were well and truly empty.

"If the Ashes are anywhere," Faren said gently, "reckon they'd be here."

He could feel his eyes on him but he couldn't bring himself to look. _Yes, gawk at the mad fool who actually believed that he would find Andraste's Ashes._

"And obviously, they're not." Dorian's lips were numb— _Felix. What about Felix? Maker, you're going to let him die. Just like that?_ —but miraculously, he almost sounded normal. "No doubt, they never were and we've been chasing nothing more than a fairytale this whole time."

"You are mistaken," a new voice said.

In a blink, Faren had spun and lifted his rifle to aim at the man who had appeared behind them. Dorian was slower but he had a pistol in hand and lightning dancing along his whip quick enough. The man—a bizarre sight in mail and a red tabard with a golden sun embroidered on its front—regarded them steadily.

"Honor Our Lady Andraste and you shall never fear," he said, the words slow and oddly echoing like wind in a cavern. "I have waited many years for this."

"Waited for what, exactly?" Dorian asked.

"For someone to take the Urn of Sacred Ashes from this temple." The man—knight, really, though he had his doubts about the accuracy of either description—stared at him; unblinking and unnaturally still. "The wretched creatures known as darkspawn have defiled what was once a holy place and turned it to one of evil and suffering. It is time that Our Lady's Ashes are gone from here forever."

Dorian's heart stuttered and he felt Faren shift at his side. After a moment's hesitation, he lowered his pistol and dispelled his magic. _Yes_ , he thought, _trust the harmlessness of strange men who appear out of nowhere to offer you what you desire most. Brilliant plan_. Knowing that he was probably speaking to a demon didn't deter him, however. Even when Faren shot him a look and very pointedly did not move.

The knight didn't react to either of them which was concerning all on its own.

"Introductions are in order, I believe," Dorian said lightly. "You first."

"I am the Guardian. For years beyond counting, I have protected the Urn and prepared the way for the faithful to revere Andraste. It has been my life and my duty and will remain so until my task is done."

"What do you want with us?" Faren asked.

The knight turned his head to gaze at the dwarf and it was like watching a wearied mountain move. Dorian realized suddenly that whatever this creature was, it was something born long, long ago.

"It is time for the Ashes to be taken from this place," he repeated. "I alone am not strong enough to protect them from the darkspawn that infest these mountains. It would be a service to Our Lady Andraste and the Maker were you to guard us as we made our passage. For this service, each of you will be allowed to take a pinch of the Ashes to do with as you will."

"You...you would simply give us some of the Ashes then?" Dorian asked.

"Prove yourselves worthy of Our Lady's blessing and it will be freely given."  
"Impressive talk," Faren said, his face grim. "Problem is that the Ashes ain't even here."

"They are here."

The knight looked beyond them and to the statue of Andraste. When Dorian followed his gaze, it was to see a white and gold urn was resting on the pedestal when it certainly hadn't been before.

"Well, that's something, isn't it," Dorian said above the pounding of his heart in his ears. He was reminded of what he'd said to Faren months ago, _I would physically walk the Fade if it would save Felix._ "We have a deal."

Faren jerked around to stare at him with eyes made wide by alarm.

"Dorian, don't—"

"Someone comes," the Guardian interrupted.

He had stepped to the side and faced the entrance to the altar room though Dorian had never seen him move. Swearing, Faren dragged him to crouch behind the short wall that surrounded the altar. He aimed over it with his rifle and Dorian did the same with his pistol.

The person that walked through the doorway was the last Dorian would have hoped for.

His old mentor was in a fine suit and bowler hat as if they weren't right in the middle of a darkspawn den in the mountains. He was apparently unarmed except for the lyrium-infused pistol held at his side. A small group of men and women dressed in antiquated, hooded robes filed in after him. Unlike Alexius, they were armed to the teeth. _Venatori. I hate Venatori._

Alexius looked around the chamber, his eyes going first to the Urn and the Guardian before settling on the two of them peering over the wall.

"Dorian," he said.

Fists tightening on his weapons, Dorian paused—mind racing, mind you—and then rose smoothly to his feet.

"Alexius. How wonderful to see that you have followed me all the way here." His lips curled into a smile but it was brittle. "And you've brought your cultist friends along, too. For a social tea, perhaps?"

"Now is not the time for your foolish jests, Dorian." When he stepped forward, both Dorian and Faren tensed but he stopped at the base of the altar. "It will be easier for you if you simply hand me the Ashes."

"And you'll hand them straight to your 'Elder One'. All so that he can restore Tevinter to its former glory while Felix dies and you let him. I could do without any of that, thank you." Dorian's smiled turned vicious. "Which means that I will be declining your offer. Do try to contain your disappointment."

"The Elder One has promised to save Felix if I deliver the Ashes."

"Ah, yes. Promises from a madman. Always so reliable, aren't they?"

"I do not expect you to understand."

"I suppose that is meant to be a comfort. To know that you at least recognize your own delusion."

" _Enough_. Give me the Ashes."

"I do believe we've discussed this already."

"Our Lady's blessing is not for you," the Guardian said and though it was as ponderous as ever, it still startled him, "nor for the Blighted master you serve."

Dorian stared at him, brow wrinkling into a frown as a flicker of alarm stirred. _Blighted? What in Thedas is that supposed to mean?_

"Then you have taken the choice out of my hands," Alexius said, ignoring the knight. "I am sorry, Dorian."

Between one breath and the next, Alexius had raised his pistol and fired. All Dorian had time to do was widen his eyes in realization before there was the crack of powder and a bullet was ripping a hole into his chest. The pain was excruciating; sharp and bright like fire. His vision blackened as another crack—louder and closer—sounded.

When it returned, he was on his knees and the temple was shaking like the mountain itself was coming apart at the seams.

He was thrown to the floor and he was dimly aware that everyone else was experiencing the same problem. Tangy blood filled his mouth and he felt dizzy. Stone rumbled and fractured and there was a ground-shuddering bang as one of the pillars fell. The Guardian stood serene amongst it all, watching the collapse of the temple with distant sorrow.

 _I'm going to die. And Felix. And Faren, too. I don't believe it._

The world tilted, sending a rather silly jolt of fear through him, but it was only that someone was pushing him upright. He blinked. It was Faren and for some bizarre reason he was ripping aside Dorian's coat and shirt.

 _This is hardly the time, wouldn't you say?_ Something—blood, he realized—bubbled up in his throat, choking him and silencing his words before they reached his lips. Faren shoved something into his wound then that burned so fiercely that his sight was stolen for a second time. Once it was back, the pain had subsided and after a few hacking coughs, he could breathe again.

 _Perhaps not so dead, after all._

There was no opportunity to discuss this development. The shaking was getting worse and it was all Dorian could do to crash onto his backside as he was pulled to his feet. He looked back at the Urn. It had fallen from its pedestal and lay shattered in a bed of ash. He reached for it, desperation shuddering in his chest, but was yanked away by his stunningly strong dwarven friend.

The chance was lost as a great fissure snake through the altar and blocked him from the Ashes forever. No one tried to stop them as Faren led him out. The Venatori were fanatics enough to still be trying to reach the broken Urn despite the mountain coming down around their ears and Alexius was dead. His stomach lurched when he saw his body, half his head missing from what could only have been a rifle cartridge.

Just as they reached the exit, Dorian glanced back at the carnage. The Guardian was still at the altar, still and calm. Dorian almost thought he saw him smile.

* * *

They stumbled more than once and were nearly crushed by falling rock just as many times but they made it out. Exhausted, they waited to see if anyone would follow. There was one last rumble accompanied by a cloud of dust then silence. Both of them were filthy and would be coughing up bits of the temple for weeks to come but they were alive. By the skin of their teeth, perhaps, but alive nonetheless.

"You know," Dorian said once he had found his rather tortured voice, "for a man that had been shot and face almost certain death, I feel remarkably well."

Faren wheezed a laugh.

"You should. I put enough of the Ashes in your chest to make a chimney weep."

"You...what?"

Grinning, the other man reached into his leather duster, took out a pouch, and dropped it into his hand.

"Got some for your friend, too. Seeing what it did for you, I'm thinkin' it'll set him right in a hurry."

Admittedly, he gaped. Most unattractively, he imagined, but Faren looked pleased as a cat with cream as he clasped Dorian's shoulder. Dorian had plenty of questions but he didn't much care to ask them, at the moment.

"I believe that I could kiss you," he said.

Faren's grin grew wider and there wasn't quite enough dust on his face to hide his reddening cheeks.

"Maybe even I'll let you but first is first, salroka." He handed him the fedora which he hadn't even noticed was missing. A blush of Dorian's own rose as he accepted it. "How 'bout we make our lucky before every darkspawn in the Frostbacks comes lookin'."

"You know, I think that's quite the idea."

* * *

And then they went on to have many more adventures together, fall in love, and live happily ever after. The End :3.


End file.
